


The Hasetsu House

by gaytectives



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied Relationships, M/M, Meet-Cute, Prequel, but who knows, to which the actual story may never be written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:04:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9623384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaytectives/pseuds/gaytectives
Summary: The Katsuki family owns a restaurant in St. Petersburg. Yuuri has hoped for Viktor to walk inside for the past five years.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [barrelrider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barrelrider/gifts).



> this is a prequel based off of something that my bff (best frog friend) elizabeth [yuriktsuki](http://yuriktsuki.tumblr.com/) and i have been roleplaying for a ridiculous amount of time now, and i couldn't help but write a little part of it !!

Yuuri peeks through the window that connects the kitchen to the dining area, squeaks a bit too loudly, and ducks back down into hiding again.

 _He’s here. He’s_ **_real_** _._

Yuuri clutches his apron and leans his forehead against the wall, nearly hyperventilating. He’s imagined this exactly scenario countless times, but he’s not acting the way he’d always hoped he would. He’d always hoped that, if he did happen to meet Viktor Nikiforov, he’d be able to keep his cool and dial down his social anxiety long enough to act like a normal person, but it seems he’s out of luck on that front.

He blushes, thinking about walking out to the dining area again and actually speaking to him. When he and his entourage had walked in, Yuuri had run straight to the kitchen and hid. What else was he expected to do? _Viktor Nikiforov_ had just walked into his family’s restaurant like it was nothing.

“You okay?”

Yuuri falls out of his crouch onto the tile floor, looking up in surprise at his sister. Mari tilts her head, raising a brow curiously.

“I’m—fine! I’m fine!” Yuuri stammers, scrambling to his feet.

Mari blinks at him, expression unchanging. “You ran back here pretty fast. Do you feel sick? I can take your tables if—”

“No!” Yuuri interrupts. He quickly covers his mouth, embarrassed by his outburst. “S-sorry, Mari-neechan—I’m okay, I just—”

He cuts off and glances through the window again to where Viktor is now seated with a few other skaters: Mila Babicheva, Georgi Popovich, and some angry-looking teenager whose name Yuuri can’t place.

Mari sees him staring and she follows his gaze. This time, both her brows raise in recognition. “Is that him? That skater you like—Vicchan?”

Yuuri shushes her, waving his hands frantically. “Don’t say anything that sounds like his name! He’ll know we’re talking about him!”

Mari smirks, crossing her arms. “He’s Russian born and raised, isn’t he? There’s no way he understands a lick of what we’re saying.”

Yuuri chews his lip anxiously. She’s right, of course. He and his family have lived in St. Petersburg for the past five years, but they still speak to each other almost solely in Japanese. He’s overreacting—there’s no way Viktor would be able to recognize the nickname.

Mari lets him stare for another few seconds before she speaks again. “So, should I take the table, or—?”

“No—I’ve got it!” Yuuri insists, pulling out his notepad. He takes a deep breath and nods to reassure himself, then stalks out of the kitchen and over to the skaters’ table.

His forced confidence diminishes more and more with every step he takes toward them. By the time he’s standing next to their table, he’s shaking nervously and he’s suddenly forgotten every word of Russian he knows.

The skaters don’t notice him at first, wrapped up in their conversation, but the angry teenager sees him and eyes him suspiciously.

“What are you looking at, pig?” he huffs, crossing his arms.

Yuuri turns bright red, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in his throat. Mila reaches over and smacks the teen’s arm, looking offended on Yuuri’s behalf.

“Yuri!” she scolds. The teen rolls his eyes and Yuuri suddenly recognizes him with the addition of his name: Yuri Plisetsky, the Russian junior grand prix champion. It makes sense. He has a reputation for having the worst temper of any of the Russian skaters.

“I’m sorry,” Mila says, bringing Yuuri’s attention back to her. “We’re still training him.”

Viktor laughs softly at her joke and Yuuri’s heart stops.

“Shut up, hag,” Yuri mutters, burying his face in his menu.

Mila, Georgi, and Viktor all smile, looking up at Yuuri placidly. After an uncomfortable few seconds of mutual staring, Yuuri realizes he’s supposed to be the one speaking now.

“O-oh, um, hello,” he starts, finally remembering how to speak in Russian. He forces a smile onto his face. “My name is Yuuri, I’ll be your—”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” Yuri interrupts, squinting at him angrily.

“ _Yuri_ ,” Mila scolds.

“Come on, he clearly recognizes us. He’s been staring at Viktor since we walked in,” Yuri huffs, jabbing a thumb at Yuuri, whose cheeks have somehow gotten even more red. “What are the odds he and I actually have the same name?”

Viktor looks up at Yuuri and smiles, tilting his head. “Are you a fan?” he asks.

Yuuri feels like a deer frozen in the headlights of a car. He couldn’t manage a response if he tried—he’s staring into the eyes of Viktor Nikiforov and the only thought running through his mind is about how _pretty_ he is in person.

Yuri laughs sharply. “See?”

Georgi sighs loudly and points at Yuuri. “Look at his nametag, Yura. He’s not lying.”

Everyone at the table leans in to look at Yuuri and he awkwardly steps a fraction of an inch closer so they can see his nametag.

“There, see?” Mila says, shoving Yuri. “Quit antagonizing him. Go ahead, Yuuri, do your bit.”

Briefly, Yuuri wonders if they’re like this at every restaurant they go to, but he shakes the thought out of his head. “Um, I—my name is Yuuri, I’ll be your server today,” he says, avoiding Yuri’s piercing gaze. “Can I start you off with any drinks?”

“Just water for me,” Mila says. Yuri grunts in agreement.

“Sake, please,” Georgi requests.

Yuuri nods, then looks at Viktor, cheeks pinkening again.

“I’ll have sake as well, Yuuri,” Viktor says, turning a blindingly charming smile on him.

A shiver runs through Yuuri’s entire body. Never in his life did he think he would know what his name sounded like rolling off Viktor Nikiforov’s tongue, but he does, and it’s _incredible_. He never quite got used to the way his name sounds when Russian people say it; it sounds wrong, nothing like the way he was raised hearing it, but Viktor’s voice makes it sound like music.

He nods again, hair on the back of his neck still standing up. “Two waters and two sakes,” he repeats, managing not to stammer. “I’ll be right back with those. Let me know if you have any questions about the menu.”

“We will,” Viktor promises, resting his chin in his hand and gazing up at him.

Yuuri blushes and skitters away, ducking into the kitchen. He leans against the wall and lets a ridiculous grin stretch over his face, hand over his heart. He feels like a teenager again, fluttering over his childhood idol—his childhood idol who skates like a god and says his name like it’s an unsung melody.

He has to take a few deep breaths before he can get back to work, serving the other tables under his care before he gets the water and Sake for the skaters’ table and carries it out to them.

“Are we ready to order yet?” Yuuri asks pleasantly, passing out the drinks and avoiding eye contact so he doesn’t turn back into a red-pink gradient.

“Da,” Georgi says, “I’ll have—”

“Actually, Yuuri,” Viktor interrupts, smiling at him, “I’m having trouble deciding between the udon and the yakitori.”

Yuri furrows his brow in confusion. “Viktor, you just decided on—”

Mila grins and elbows Yuri, shushing him. She leans in and whispers in his ear. Yuri rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “Potaskukha,” he mutters, crossing his arms.

Yuuri blinks in surprise. He doesn’t understand the word, though he’s nearly fluent in Russian. He can only imagine it’s some kind of insult, and he’s not sure he wants look it up later.

“Like I said,” Viktor pipes up, catching Yuuri’s attention again, “I’m having trouble deciding. What would you recommend, Yuuri?”

“O-oh,” Yuuri mumbles, “um, the udon is a house favorite.”

“Of the two, which is _your_ favorite?” Viktor asks, smiling sweetly.

The blood rushes to Yuuri’s cheeks, breaking his one minute streak of not blushing. He smiles a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “I like the yakitori best,” he says truthfully.

Viktor beams. “I’ll have that, then,” he states, shutting his menu and holding it out. “Thank you, Yuuri,” he adds, practically purring.

The tone of his voice makes Yuuri’s stomach turn pleasantly and he reaches out for the menu. When he takes it he accidentally brushes fingers with Viktor and his heart jumps into his throat, beating so quickly he thinks he might pass out. He pulls the menu out of Viktor’s hand and hugs it to his chest, staring at Viktor with wide eyes. Viktor just keeps smiling at him, batting his eyelashes.

Yuri clears his throat loudly and interrupts them. “Pork ramen,” he says, tossing his menu down on the table.

Yuuri finally looks away from Viktor and picks up Yuri’s menu, turning to Mila next. She orders shrimp tempura, Georgi finally gets to order gyoza, and Yuuri takes their menus to the front and their orders to the kitchen.

He glances out through the window again and immediately meets eyes with Viktor, who’s gazing directly at him. Yuuri blushes and ducks his head, walking away to continue taking care of the rest of his tables.

He feels incredibly dazed, like he’s in a dream. He actually steps aside and pinches himself at one point, then looks over only to find that Viktor and the other skaters are still there. They’re real. _Viktor_ is real—real, beautiful, talented, and sitting fifteen feet away from Yuuri. If he didn’t know any better, Yuuri would be tempted to say that Viktor is… well, _flirty_ —but he knows from poring over countless interviews that Viktor is always overly-friendly and charming to people, even strangers, and he shuts the idea down before he has time to obsess over it.

He’s overjoyed, but at the same time, there’s a pit in his stomach that he can’t ignore. He’s always wanted to meet Viktor, but not like this. In this context, he’s insignificant. Just another waiter at another restaurant that Viktor will forget about by the end of the day. The thought makes his heart ache. He’d always hoped that when—if—they met, he’d have skated on the same ice as Viktor, and would be able to tell Viktor how much he looked up to him and admired his skating and him as a person. Instead, he’s serving Viktor lunch and going back to mourning the death of his skating career.

He should be over it by now. He hasn’t set foot on the ice in six years.

He has nothing to show for his admiration of Viktor, and his spirits sink so low that he barely remembers to bring out the skaters’ food when it’s ready. Viktor thanks him in that same purring tone he used earlier, but Yuuri just nods and walks away.

It’s been six years since he last failed at nationals and finally gave up on having a professional figure skating career. Everyone insisted he had potential, he just needed to learn to work through his anxiety—but it was so painful seeing the faces of his friends and family, even those of strangers, when he failed, that he couldn’t handle it anymore.

Tourism in Hasetsu dropped when he stopped skating. It got so bad that his family eventually had to close the onsen, and when his parents needed to find a new business they moved and ended up just five miles away from Viktor’s home rink. It had been an incredible mixture of a dream and a nightmare—Yuuri finally had a realistic shot at meeting Viktor, but Viktor would probably never give him a second glance if it happened.

The scenario he imagined for years has finally come true, and at the end of the day, Viktor will still be iconic, a five-time grand prix champion, and Yuuri will still be a self-declared failure.

He preps the skaters’ receipts, cutting the bill up four ways per their request, and stares at Viktor’s receipt, chewing his lip indecisively. He wants to tell Viktor how much he means to him, but that would take a lot more space and would probably result in a restraining order. Something smaller, maybe? He occasionally leaves notes for kind customers on their receipts, and Viktor already knows he’s a fan, so is there really any harm?

He jots down a quick note— _Good luck at Nationals! ~Y_ —and brings the receipts out to the table, handing them out and then taking them back when everyone has shoved their credit cards in the books. He runs their cards and brings the books back out to the table, managing to smile at everyone as they gather their things and get ready to leave.

“Thank you for visiting Hasetsu House,” Yuuri recites. Viktor looks up at him and grins and he starts stammering again. “W-we hope— _I_ hope you come back soon.”

Yuri rolls his eyes and stands. “We’re going to be late to training. Yakov will get his panties in a wad.”

Mila gets up to follow him, smiling apologetically at Yuuri as they go, and Georgi follows shortly after. Viktor scribbles something on his receipt, leaves it on the table, and winks at Yuuri on his way out. Yuuri nearly chokes on his own spit.

He starts clearing the table by taking up all the receipts he has to bring up to the register, then pauses to read what Viktor wrote on his. His handwriting is blocky and scrunched up and Yuuri has to squint to read it.  

 _Thanks for the well wishes and a great meal. Text me._ _♡ V.N._

A phone number is scrawled right below the note and Yuuri does a double-take, then a triple-take. He pinches himself again, and the note stays there on the receipt, completely real.

He blushes so brightly that he tears up from how warm and flushed his cheeks are and he holds the receipt over his heart, smiling.

Maybe it was more a dream than a nightmare after all.


End file.
